You Are Not Alone
by isis whit
Summary: SBR. When Bailey has an accident, Sam is coming back to help her best friend...


Disclaimer: Profiler and its characters belong to NBC, Cynthia Saunders, Sander/Moses Productions, Stephen Kronish, and Three Putt Productions. No copyright infringement intended.

Classification: SBR, what else did you expect?

Rated: PG 13

Author's note: Some Spoilers for 'Reunion'.   
  
  
  


_You Are Not Alone_

by [isis_whit][1]

Pressure. Trapped. Crushed. Fire, fire, put it out. What's that sound? Fire crackles. Not romantic. Wood splinters. That's not good, not good. Shit. Run, run, run. Oh my god, it really hurts. Can't breathe. Get outta here. See the woman, see the kid, see the house. See nothing. Darkness. Tastes like blood. Head aches. Dizziness. Own fault. Got to be careful. Watch out, watch out. Damn, it hurts. Hope nobody's hurt. How long? How long can it take? It's hot, you know. Get me out of here. Hello! Move your legs, c'mon. Get your ass up. Shit. Can't see the sky. Where am I? Feel the wet grass under my throbbing palms. White noise. White pain. Who am I? Forgot my name. Feels like a hangover. No, that's different. Tell me, somebody. Anybody here? Hey, can't you hear me? Can you hear me? PLEASE? Boy, this hurts. Blackness. Nothing.

As the Fire Brigade arrived, a strange scene met their eyes. At the horizon, like a distant backdrop, the burning house. In front, a bizarre arrangement of three bodies. On the left, a woman was lying on her back, her nightgown sooty. A few yards in front of the entrance there was a man lying in the wet grass, halfway covering a little boy with his body as if it were a shield. None of the three figures was moving. They looked like dummies after a crash simulation.

* * *

It was an unusual mild March evening, and the chilly breeze was bringing humid briny air from the close Atlantic. Wrapped up in a blanket, she was sitting on the veranda overlooking the deserted beach, only the marram grass moving in an irregular rhythm. When dusk began to fall, she dropped the book on her knees and closed her eyes, inhaling the freshness of the ocean. She was sitting there, motionless like a statue, when the ring of the phone startled her. Slowly she walked inside and picked up the receiver.

"Waters?"

"Hi, Sam!" a familiar voice answered.

"Oh, hi Angel! How are you?"

Although Angel hesitated just for a split second, Sam noticed that there was something wrong.

"You okay?"

"Yeah Sam, I'm fine. Actually, I'm not sure why I'm calling you at all. Guess it was a bad idea."

Sam knew her best friend well enough to feel the tension in her voice. Although living over thousand miles apart they were still close, keeping up contact over the phone, writing each other long letters or emails, and anytime Angel was around Boston, she was visiting Sam and her daughter in their new home on Martha's Vineyard.

"What do you mean? I'm glad that you called. We haven't talked for almost two weeks. Are you mad at me?"

"No Sam. Oh shit, I don't know what to say. You were trying so hard to get away from your past. I don't have the right to pull you in again."

"Angel, you sound confused. And I have not the slightest idea what you're talking about."

"You know, I'm in Atlanta right now."

"Doing what?"

"Oh, there's an exhibition."

"Really? That's wonderful," Sam answered.

"That's not why I called," she continued. "Something happened."

"What something? Tell me, come on." Sam was getting impatient.

"It's...phew, this is hard... it's Bailey."

Suddenly she shivered. Sam was not sure if she really wanted to hear something about her old friend and mentor, of whom she had not heard since leaving the VCTF over six month ago. Her thoughts were wandering off to the past, memories of so many close moments buried deep in her heart resurfaced. She had been trying to forget him, the man who had become so important to her. However, in her most intimate hours he was sneaking in her memories, his smile making her smile, his tears making her heartsick.

"Sam, you still there?"

"Yeah, yeah, Angel, I'm here, sorry."

"I know, it was a bad idea to call."

"Okay Angel, it's too late now, anyway. So, why don't you just tell me about Bailey?"

"I'm sure you won't like what I'm gonna tell you now. Sam," she paused, "Bailey had an accident."

"Oh my...." her voice failed. She closed her eyes trying to control her emotions. "What happened?" she asked gravely.

"I'm not quite sure, I've heard it in the news tonight. He seemed to have saved a woman and her child from a fire, last night. I don't know how it happened, Sam. They just said, he's in critical condition. I thought you should know."

"Thanks Angel." Sam felt numb.

Hardly taking in the rest of their conversation, her thoughts started spinning around in her head. After she had hung up she was pacing the living room, trying to get together what Angel had told her just minutes ago. He had been injured. Seriously. Tears filled her eyes.

What should she do now? She felt torn. For the last months, she had been trying to built a new life up here on the idyllic island, finding new friends, helping Chloe to get back the careless life a teenage girl is supposed to live. Then again, she thought of Bailey. She could not deny it, she could not deceive herself. For the last months, she had built a nice, unexcited life and told herself that she was happy the way it was. Now the fear, the anger, the despair hit her unprepared. After a long hour ripping her inner self into little pieces and trying to put them together again, she had made a decision.

"Chloe?"

"Come in, mom."

"Hey!" she greeted her daughter, entering her room.

"What's up mommy? Have you been crying?"

"Angel called. She sends you a big hug," she said with a sad smile.

"That made you cry?"

"No. Chlo." Sam composed her thoughts, then she continued, "What do you think about a vacation?"

"Over the weekend? Oh, that'd be so cool!"

"Would you like to spend some time with your grandparents on the farm?"

"Will you come with me?"

Sam took a deep breath.

"Chlo, I have to make a trip, and I can't take you with me." She was trying the best not to lie to her daughter, but she did not want her to know the truth either. When she recognized the disappointed look on Chloe's face, Sam sat down on the bed beside the girl, putting an arm around her shoulders.

"Okay, you have a right to know. You're old enough. I have to go to Atlanta."

"That's why you cried, huh? You said, you never wanted to go there again."

"I know, sweetie, but Uncle Bailey needs me."

When Sam had been talking about going back to Atlanta, Chloe really got mad. Her mother had promised that they never, ever had to return to the city of their worst nightmares. The wounds Jack had left behind on both their souls had finally begun to heal. Uncle Bailey needs me, it echoed in her head. She hardly remembered her father but, whenever she thought about how her father should be like, she thought of Bailey. She admired him and loved him. Going back to Atlanta really frightened her, but she was sure that if he needed her mother's help she had to be right there for him, as he had always been for them.

"Okay, mom, I'll go with you," she said, putting in all the determination she had.

"Are you sure?" Sam was worried about what would happen. It was relatively easy to say from that distance, but how would Chloe react when the plane touched the ground of Hartsfield Airport? She was not even sure about her own feelings.

* * *

Restlessly, the night had passed. She had packed their suitcases, arranged everything in the house for a leave, and then sat down to wait, unable to sleep. He's in critical condition it refrained in her head.

She had been able to get a flight as soon as 6:30, and with Chloe still drowsy, the distance to Providence seemed to take hours. She was thinking about Angel's call again. How much did she really know? Angel had always been ambiguous towards Bailey. At times, only one person blamed Bailey more for what had happened to Sam than Angel did, and this person was Bailey himself. The fact that Angel had called her made her heart sink.

An hour later on board the plane to Atlanta she was relieved to see Chloe absorbed by the music on her Discman. She had been concerned about what the trip down there could cause, unsure how much Chloe had overcome the trauma, the lies, and the fears Jack had sown in her heart.

After getting their luggage, Sam became aware that she had no idea where she could find her friend. She thought for a second, then she took a phone book and searched for the page with Atlanta's hospitals listed. Glancing over the all too familiar names, she decided to try Crawford Long Hospital as the most probable one. Her deductive abilities had not lost her, although not trained lately.

She had asked her way through the hospital corridors, Chloe following her silently. Finally, they arrived at the waiting room. Standing hesitant in front of the door, Sam peeked through the small window. A somber assembly of familiar faces was sitting on the chairs, standing at the window, walking around, talking muffled.

A man in a creased blue shirt was standing at the window, staring outside with his hands in his pockets. She was glad to see John there. Beside him, leaning against the wall, she recognized Rachel Burke, her successor as profiler for the VCTF. She was insistently talking to a young woman sitting on a chair next to her. It was Frances, Bailey's eldest daughter. The year at Marian had become her, nothing reminded Sam of the pale and skinny teenager who had been devastated enough to shoot her own father. On the seat next to her, George was sitting with his eyes closed. He looked weary and pale, but Sam was sure that he was not asleep. In the opposite corner of the room, there was another small gathering. Grace was talking to Bailey's ex-wife Janet. The girl standing next to her was Ariana who had become a teenager since the last photograph Bailey had proudly shown her in the past. She looked so much like her mother.

She was afraid to interrupt the intimacy and closeness she felt present inside the small room between those people, but Chloe took her by the hand and pushed open the door. As the door swung open, everyone's head turned in her direction. Shyly she looked into several speechless faces. Grace was the first one who got herself together, as she walked towards Sam and embraced her with relief.

"Oh Sam, it's so good to have you here," she said, sadness in her voice.

Although she could see the question in everyone's eyes, how did she know about this, nobody asked her about it. They just went over to her, hugging her and Chloe silently, shaking hands, and even Janet seemed glad to see her.

"Grace, I have to know how he is," Sam whispered with a quivering voice.

"Let's go outside," she answered and took her by the hand to lead her into the lobby.

Hardly looking in the other woman's eyes, Sam asked, "What happened?"

"Look, Sam. I won't lie to you, but none of us exactly knows what had happened there. You know him. There was a fire in his neighborhood. He got the woman and her son out."

What Sam had heard so far, made tears trickle down her cheeks. She knew that this was not the end of the story and therefore she bravely asked Grace to continue. The VCTF's forensic pathologist was trying to keep up her matter-of-fact mode to make it easier for both of them.

"It looks like a beam crashing from the collapsing ceiling hit his head. We don't know how he made it outside, the impact should have knocked him out immediately."

"How bad is it?" Sam had to know.

"All in all, he has minor injuries, a few bruises, small burns, a insignificant fume poisoning, nothing serious. But he suffered a head injury. I can give you the medical details if you want:"

Sam nodded without saying a word.

"Okay. The impact caused a severe traumatic brain injury. The firefighters found him unconscious on the ground, and he has never regained consciousness. He's in a coma, Sam. The MRI showed a intracerebral hematoma." She paused, waiting for any reaction.

"What does that mean, Grace?"

"It's a bleeding in the cerebrum, the brain, and the neurologist said an operation would effect more damage than the hematoma itself. In addition, he has a severe concussion. Unfortunately, we can do nothing but wait right now."

"How're the chances?"

"At the very moment, he's on the edge. He's on corticosteroids to reduce the intracranial pressure. Frankly, if spontaneous respiration doesn't start within the next few days, the prognosis is bad. But they can't determine the amount of damage his brain has already taken."

"What can I do?" Sam whispered.

"Wait and pray," Grace answered unable to look her straight in the eyes.

"Can I see him?"

"I think so. They let in only one at a time, and just for a few minutes. He needs rest, more than anything."

Sam followed Grace down the sterile corridor through the hospital. Inside the elevator her heart was beating so loud, she was hardly able to hear the other people talking. On the next floor, they slowly stepped out and searched the wing to the ICU. At the reception, Grace had a short conversation with a nurse, who showed them the way to intensive care.

The hallway of the trauma unit was busy with doctors and nurses bustling around. Grace led her along the way past a long row of patients, only a curtain between them. He was the last in the row, his pale face lightened up by glaring neon light.

Sam greeted the primary care nurse with a nod and sat down beside his bed. Bailey looked worse than back when Frances had shot him. More vulnerable, fragile, almost gone. She was afraid to touch him, afraid that he could break. With her fingertips, she softly stroked the line from the tip of his index finger to the wrist, just to feel his skin to reassure herself that he was still there.

She looked up and watched him in this bizarre surrounding. The rhythm of the IV pump did not match the constant signal of the vital signs monitor. She did not want to weep, she wanted to be strong for him, but she could not stop the tears running down her cheeks. He was on mechanical ventilation, a frightening tube in his mouth. His body was covered only by the blue sheet up to his bare chest, and he looked caught in the uncountable cables and tubes around him, like a butterfly in a spider web. What worried her most were the eye tapes. That way, he looked barely alive.

"Bailey, come back," she whispered almost inaudible.

Sam startled from a soft touch on her shoulder. Grace had come back, accompanied by a doctor.

"Dr Waters," the doctor greeted her.

"Dr.... Goldman," she read from the name sign on his green gown. "How is he?"

"I was given permission to completely inform you about Mister Malone's status. Let's talk about it outside."

"How is he?" she asked again with insistence.

"Doctor Waters, your friend here was really lucky."

Sam gave the surgeon a sardonic smile.

"No, really, Doctor Waters, it's a miracle that he doesn't have more serious injuries. As his neurologist and attending physician, I can only tell you that his EEG and the ICP is normal, which is a very good sign. But you have to know that with a severe brain injury, it's at this point impossible to evaluate the damage."

"Could you be more precise, please?" Sam insisted.

Dr Goldman gave Grace a meaningful look. When she nodded, he proceeded, carefully picking his words.

"If he survives the next few days, it can go from anything like a Coma Vigil to a full recovery. The concussion doesn't help either. Every level in between is imaginable. We still don't know very much about how the brain works, or how it recovers, but you shouldn't expect too much."

If he survives. He has to! The sobering analysis felt like a pool of ice water poured over her head. Nevertheless, she was thankful for his honesty. With the feeling that he was slipping out of her hands, the two women left the ICU and returned to the group of his family and friends. Back there, she was surprised to see Chloe joking around with Ariana. While she stood in the doorframe observing the scene with amazement, Chloe noticed her mother's presence and ran right into her arms.

"Mom, can I see Uncle Bailey now?"

Sam bit her lip, then got on her knees, placing her hands on Chloe's shoulders.

"Chloe, you can visit him in a few days, okay? He just needs some rest now."

"But mom, I want him to be okay."

"I know, honey, I know. Just a few days patience. He's sleeping now."

The girl nodded, but Sam saw the disappointment in her eyes. During her conversation with her daughter Janet was approaching Sam, waiting in a distance, careful not to interrupt their little discourse.

"Excuse me, Doctor Waters," she addressed her.

Sam turned around. "Just call me Sam, okay?"

"Sure, Sam. I'm Janet, as you know," she began nervously. "Where will you stay overnight?"

"Oh I don't know, I'm gonna find a hotel, somewhere."

The blonde woman cleared his throat.

"Why don't you stay with us at Bailey's house?"

Sam felt a little uncomfortable thinking about staying with Bailey's ex-wife, but she put her doubts aside because she thought it might be better for all three girls, Chloe, Ariana, and Frances, when they would spend some time together.

When Janet had stopped the car in front of Bailey's house, anxious silence overcame every one of them. Inside, Ariana offered to show Chloe around, and the two girls went upstairs. Without saying a single word, Frances turned around and left for the garage. She folded back the tarp that covered her father's Harley. Then she sat down on it, burying her face in the smooth leather, and started to cry unrestrainedly.

Sam excused herself and went upstairs. When she entered the bathroom, she locked the door behind her and sat down on the bathtub. She buried her face in her hands, and her body was shaken by the deep sobs she had held back for so many hours. When she got herself together again, she bent over the washbasin and let some ice-cold water run over her face. She reached for the towel. Wiping her face dry, she smelled his scent in the fluffy cotton. For minutes she stood there in front of the mirror, inhaling every note of the sweet mixture of after-shave, cigar smoke, and his body. It felt so comfortable, familiar. Scent of home.

Back in the kitchen, Janet was already busy with preparing a cold dinner for all of them. Abruptly she stopped and started talking to Sam without turning around.

"You know, when I saw you come in earlier this afternoon, I didn't know what to think," she started. "First I thought, what the hell is she doing here? You know, at a certain point I had blamed you that our marriage broke down."

"What?" Sam could not believe what she had heard.

"You really have no idea, do you? Yeah, probably not. I'm sure he never told you."

"Told me what?"

Now Janet turned around, looking at Sam with a sad smile, shaking her head.

"Oh that's so much him, the master of denial. I always felt there was a special relationship between you and him. I was envious of the strong bond between you both. We had been living together and been unable to communicate, and you had been hundreds of miles away, nonetheless you had always understood each other better over the distance than we did during we were close. I really wonder how he could keep his secret."

Sam shook her head perplexed.

"Don't you know that he loves you?"

"What are you talking about?" Sam asked embarrassed.

"Bailey. He loves you. He always had. Sure, once he loved me, too, but never the way he loved you."

Sam was absolutely bewildered. She did not know what to say.

"You're surprised? Don't worry. Remember, there was a time when we got back together. It didn't last long, how could it. He was fair enough to tell me that he still cares about me, but that his love belongs to somebody else. Of course he didn't give me your name, but I was sure he was talking about you. He didn't want to cheat on me. He never did, at least not physically."

"I'm sorry," Sam replied confused, trying to make sense of what the woman leaning at the kitchen counter was talking about.

"Nothing to be sorry about. I'm over it, finally. We both had already made too many mistakes, so we're trying to become friends again. For our sake, and for the girls. It's hard for me to see him like that, you know, I was trying to hate him for so many years but I can't do that any longer. I still feel strongly towards him, if I want it or not. I wish I could do something. I don't want him.... to die. I just hope you can help him," she said calmly.

The evening had passed without further disclosures. Everyone was quietly lost in her own thoughts, only talking the necessary. They were all exhausted, and before 10:00 p.m. they were lying in their beds, Frances and Ariana in Frances' old room, Janet on the couch in the den, while Sam and Chloe took the king-sized bed in Bailey's bedroom.

Before she went to bed, Sam dialed the number of Angel's cell phone. She needed a friend to talk.

"Hello. Angel Brown?"

"Hey Angel."

"Sam! What's new?" she asked worried.

"Oh, Angel, it's terrible," Sam sobbed. Hardly able to control her voice, she told her best friend about Bailey. Angel didn't ask much, she just let Sam pour out her heart.

"Sam, I'm so sorry. I wish I could be there for you but I have to go to Chicago. Professor Danielson from Northwestern asked me to give a summer course there. I promise, I'll be back as soon as I can."

The house was silent when Sam sat up, unable to find sleep after all what had happened. She could not get Janet's words out of her head. She cuddled up under the warm cover and reached for the pillow. With a deep sigh she wrapped her arms around it, and finally fell asleep.

* * *

Early in the morning, a soft ray of sunlight, refracted by the dusty widow pane, woke her up from a restless unrefreshing sleep. She opened her eyes, looking around in the room. The house was quiet and peaceful, and Sam got up and took a shower. With everybody else still asleep she stepped outside the front door where the burnt down ruin caught her eye. Curiously, she started walking in its direction, driven by the wish to see the very place where the tragedy had taken place only a short time ago. She wanted to see. She had to.

Cautiously she slipped through under the police line. Walking to the entrance, she discovered a spot at which the singed grass had been a bit flattened. Crouching, she recognized a small bloodstain. Bailey's blood. As soon as her hand had touched the sun-warmed ground, she closed her eyes, trying to reconstruct last night's events.

She could see it clearly: Bailey stumbling outside the house, carrying the little boy. Blood run from his nose and a small cut on the forehead. A few steps behind the entrance stairs, he was dropping on his knees, and finally he was collapsing, burying the child's body beneath him. He had risked his life for those strangers, just as he had done it for her and on duty many times before. He had always put his own life and wellbeing last. Bailey had never made much ado about it, but his team had always looked up to him as a true leader. He had joined the FBI because he really thought that he could change the world by catching the bad guys. And although he would not admit it he still believed that he could make a difference. At least he had to try. He could not stand by and let those things happen without trying to do anything about it. That was just Bailey.

When Sam arrived at the hospital, she was surprised to see George standing Bailey's bed. He was talking to him severely. When her memories strayed away to her time with the VCTF, she had to smile.

Bailey, a man who can be more than old-fashioned at times, accepted George's homosexuality without exception. Bailey had always looked after the team working with him like after his own. When George needed help Bailey was right there, he didn't judge, didn't ask more than the necessary, he was just there for him, ready to risk his life, his job to protect one of his own. George had never expected him to do it, he didn't even have the guts to ask for help, but Bailey offered it as if there was no doubt about it. Loyalty had always been one of Bailey's principles. He demanded it from his subordinates, and they were willing to give everything for him because they knew he would pay it back double. Of course, George was thankful for what Bailey had done for him but it was more than just gratefulness. Over the years, a real friendship had developed between these two very different men.

As she appeared the bed, George looked at her somberly. He informed her that there had been no changes on Bailey's condition.

"Tell me George, what did you all do during the last few months, huh?"

"Hunting creepy serial killers, as usual. No, seriously, it was hard for us to deal with your leaving. We all understand why you did it, but we really miss you. Rachel is a good profiler, sure, but we don't feel whole without you. And Bailey was difficult to work with lately, he became grouchy."

"That's nothing new, is it?" she said with a slight grin.

"He missed you, Sam."

Sam bit her lip. I missed him too.

After George had left, Sam sat down on the already well-known chair beside Bailey. She bent forward and, with her elbows on the bed, she took his limp hand in hers.

"Hey! I know you can hear me. You know that you're not done here, right? I'm gonna kick your butt if you don't get on you feet soon," she laughed nervously. "I've heard what you have done. You're an amazing man, Malone. But next time look for yourself a little better, deal? You scared the shit out of me, you know." Carefully, she opened his hand and kissed his palm.

Back at the waiting area in front of the ICU, she stood still for a minute, trying to compose herself. There was a small balcony, and Sam stepped outside to take a few breaths of fresh spring air. It was only March, but the air in Atlanta was already soft and warm. The old southern sun is much more intense than back home. Home? As often as she called their new house up in Mass home, as often she caught herself feeling that it was not the place she belonged to. How can a tree grow tall, when you cut his roots? She shivered.

Janet came for a visit, bringing her daughters and Chloe with her. Janet took Ariana to her father. It was hard for the girl. Since the divorce, Janet had injected her own frustration and anger into the little heart, where it could not be removed with ease. Ariana, now almost sixteen, was confused how to feel about a man who had done such awful things to her mother. At least that she was told. Janet had tried to explain it to her, but still her father felt like an alien to her.

"Can I talk to you?" Frances asked.

Sam had noticed that Frances was having a hard time, but she didn't want to push her. She was pleased that she finally started talking to her.

"Sure, let's sit down."

"I don't know how to put it, Sam. You know, my dad never made it easy for me, right?" That was supposed sound unworried. "He didn't name any legal representative, and I'm his only family member of legal age around. Fact is, if there's anything to decide they want me to do it. But I can't. How can they expect me to decide over his life? How can he expect that?" She cried.

Sam was wondering why Bailey hadn't taken care of that issue. That wasn't like him.

"Frances, I know this is a painful situation for you. I want you to know that, come what may, I'm right there for you. You're not alone. There's your mom, and all his friends will support you in anything, okay. Don't be afraid. And, please, don't be mad at him."

Frances nodded.

"I know he's gonna be alright, okay?"

Sam enfolded her closely in her arms, willing to take away some of the concerns weighing heavily on the young woman.

"Frances, I'd like to thank you."

"What for?"

"Well, you told Doctor Goldman to inform me, didn't you?"

"Yeah. You know him better than anyone else does." Frances paused. "It's just that I love him so much. I can't lose him."

"I know, I know," Sam comforted her. I love him too.

* * *

After breakfast Grace showed up. She offered to drive Sam to the hospital. Sam agreed, because Janet promised to bring the kids later in the afternoon. She wanted them to spend some time outside the hospital, just doing kid's stuff and trying to push aside the dark cloud above them. Sam was thankful. She was really surprised but at the same time glad to see Janet's animosity changed into a more normal relationship with her ex-husband.

On their way downtown, Sam was uncommunicative.

"You okay, Sam?" Grace was trying to get her talking.

"Mhh." She mumbled.

"Hey, I know you're scared, but we have to think positive. I'm sure he can feel our presence."

"Yeah, guess you're right."

When she was to enter Bailey's room, a nurse was carefully rubbing his chest with a washcloth. Then she lifted his arm, washing it with stroking moves. She noticed how limp and frail he looked, nevertheless, she wished she could touch him like that. When the nurse was finished, Sam stepped back so as not to be seen.

It was early morning and the hall was still calm when she pushed the chair beside his bed and sat down, not letting her eyes from his face, looking his body that showed under the sheet up and down. Ultimately, she took his hand in hers, fingers entwining, and started talking softly.

"Hell, Bailey, what's going on here? You can't go away like this, you know that? I didn't come all the way from Massachusetts to let you out. You know, Janet told me about your feelings. I must have been blind not to see it, I mean, even she knew that there's something. Recalling what was going on between the two of us in the past, I can see it now in every word you said, everything you did, every look you gave me. I've known you for so many years now, and I can imagine why you've never talked about it. It must've torn you apart. I'm sorry, Bail. Tell you something: I'm not sure right now if I love you the way you love me, I only know one thing for sure. I do love you, and I feel drawn towards to you, always did, you know. It's just that I didn't allow myself these deep feelings. Whenever I felt it coming along, I pushed it aside not to get hurt again, not to hurt you. I know I'm a coward, we both are obviously, huh? At least, now I'm sure that I want you be part of my life. That's a start, right? We got a lot to talk about, so you better wake up soon, okay."

He did not show any reaction. Nothing. His heart beat in the same constant rhythm, and his chest heaved as the respirator pumped oxygen into his lungs. She bit her lips, trying hard not to let Bailey feel her sorrow. But no matter how hard she tried, she could not stop the tears falling silently without letting out a sob, but accidentally a single tear drop hit his forearm, slowly running over it, until it was soaked up by the soft sheet. Carefully she rubbed it into his dry skin, as if she could absorb herself right into his body, becoming one.

"Where are you, Bailey, where?"

Then she let his hand go and leaned back in the chair. That way, she sat for about an hour, motionless, her eyes fixed on his face. She wanted to transfer her energy, her power, her life to him, making him simply survive. She was unsure if she could reach him now.

Grace, who had given her some time to spend alone with Bailey, came in, interrupting her dismal thoughts.

"Sam?"

"Yeah Grace. Anything new?"

"He's stable. Goldman said, they will extubate him tomorrow."

The two women embraced, holding each other for a long moment. Sam left the ICU, but outside she decided to wait for Grace. She didn't want to call Angel and overstrain her friend with her problems while she was busy.

"Hey, Bail! I've heard you're doing great," Grace said as positive as she could manage. "You know that we're all here for you. Sam's here, but I'm sure you know that. Morgan sends you the best wishes. Hey, and Jason is asking after you all the time. You're so good with kids." With a coy gesture, she brushed his hair. She wanted to let Bailey feel that there are people who care for him.

Sam was waiting in the lobby, leaning against the wall. When Grace pushed the door open, Sam went toward her friend.

"Hey Grace. Do you have a minute?"

"Sure Sam."

They went to a small secluded corner of the lobby, where they sat down facing each other.

"I just have to tell someone. George told me that, well, Bailey didn't take it too well, I mean my leaving."

"Yeah, so to say. Honestly, he really suffered. I don't want you to feel guilty, Sam, but that's how it was. He never blamed you for your decision, he only blamed himself. His guilt ate him up. He was working fifteen, sixteen hours, just to forget."

"Then it is true."

"What is true?"

"That he loves me," Sam whispered.

"Oh yes, he loved you for a long time. I never saw a man love with more passion and less selfishness than him. I sometimes wondered that you never saw it in his eyes."

"Well, I didn't dare to open my eyes. Thank you for your honesty, Grace."

After a while, Grace asked: "Can I ask you something?"

"Uhu."

"What about you?"

"I didn't allow myself to."

Grace shook her head.

"No, I mean now. What are you feeling now?"

"I think I love him too. No, I know it. I just have to get used to it. Don't you think it strange that you have to go through hell before you get some happiness?"

"He will make it with your help. I'm sure," Grace said, putting a hand on Sam's knee. "And you both will find the happiness you deserve."

* * *

Sam was spending every free minute at the hospital, quickly adapting to the daily routine of an ICU. Nobody who stopped by was surprised to see Sam around all the time. They had to force Sam to get something to eat, to get some rest. She finally recognized that she had to keep her strength and gave in. The staff, first skeptical about her presence, accepted her as soon as they realized that she would not leave if asked. Earlier that day, they had removed the trachial tube, and he had started to breathe without ventilation.

She was sitting on the bed, gazing at his face. He looked less worrying with only the small feeding tube attached to his nose with a white tape. For her, his face was as fascinating as ever. His features had always appeared perfect to her, craggy like a relief carved in marble. And as the center of this striking face, the two deepest brown eyes she could think of, two deep pools that captivate you, making you sense that he can see right to the depths of your soul. They had removed the white tapes that ought to keep his eyes shut. If only she could look into those dark eyes.

A tap woke her from her daydream.

"Hey, Grant," she welcomed John.

"Hey! How is he?" he asked worried.

"Unchanged." She looked down.

"It will help him to have you at his side," he said, trying to encourage Sam as much as himself.

"I hope I can reach him, wherever he is now."

She put Bailey's hand down to his side and rose.

"I'll get something to eat. Will you be here in, let's say, twenty minutes?"

"Don't think so. We have a meeting at two. We were looking at the evidence from the fire. We just have to be sure that it was a tragic accident."

Hesitating, John stood at the foot of the bed after Sam had left the room. He looked at his boss, shaking his head in disbelief.

"God, Bailey. You really know how to get into trouble, man. Do you know that Sam came back from wherever she had been just because of you? You're a luck guy, you know. Just get healthy, okay. We need you back at the VCTF to kick our butts. But in the meantime, you take your time to get in shape."

When Sam returned from the cafeteria, she was shocked about what she saw. A male nurse was bent over the bed, tying his hands to the bed.

"Hey, hey, what are you doin'?" she yelled at him.

"Oh, Doctor Waters," he answered when he recognized her.

"What's going on here? Get away from him!"

"Sorry, Miss, I have to do that. He's hurting himself."

"How? I think he's in coma?"

"Wait a minute, I'll send you Doctor Goldman, okay?"

Sam paced up and down in front of his room, impatiently waiting for the neurologist. When she saw him appear on the other end of the hall, she ran towards him, confronting him with questions all over. He could hardly calm her down, but convinced her to come with him to his office.

"Okay, Doctor Waters, I understand you're upset. I'm afraid we hadn't been able to inform you in advance, but this was an acute situation. The alarm went on because he had ripped out the CPV line and a catheter. This is likely to happen to people in coma. I mean, he is now in what we call a vegetative state, which comprises a return of wakefulness, but it's not accompanied by cognitive function. He might open his eyes to verbal stimuli, anyway, motor responses are not localized, but autonomic functions are preserved."

Sam had listened carefully although she didn't understand everything the doctor had told her.

"Does that mean he's better?"

"It's an improvement, no doubt, but it's not really significant for the prognosis."

Back in the ICU, Sam sat down, resting her head on the bed right beside his tied wrist, one hand softly stroking his forearm.

"Don't fight, honey," she whispered, catching herself using this intimate name so naturally. "Everything's gonna be alright, okay. Just relax."

Before she was to leave, she softly touched the stitches on the small cut on his forehead. Almost without touching, she blew a soft kiss on his cheek.

When she returned to Bailey's house, Ariana and Chloe, busy with drying the dishes and talking about their favorite boy group, welcomed her warmly.

"Chloe, what do you think of a surprise?" she asked with a mischievous grin.

"Oh, you know I love surprises. What is it?"

"Well, I'm not sure if I'm gonna tell you. Maybe later," Sam teased her, while Ariana watched with curious interest.

"Oh come on, mom. That's unfair. Tell me, please," Chloe begged.

"Okay. What would you say if I tell you that you can visit..."

"I can visit Uncle Bailey?" her daughter interrupted her.

"Yes. You want?"

"You're asking? Sure! I can't wait to see him." And she went skipping out of the kitchen, singing like a jolly refrain "I get visit Uncle Bailey".

When Sam looked at Ariana, she realized that Bailey's daughter was close to tears. Sam approached her, softly touching her arm.

"Hey, what's wrong?"

Ariana only pressed her lips together, avoiding her gaze.

"You're angry, right? What makes you so angry?" Sam was to give up.

"He doesn't love me," she hissed.

"No, Ariana. You're father loves you very much," Sam said, careful not to let Ariana hear the hurt in her voice.

"How can you say that? He left us, and from that time on, he didn't care for us any longer!" Now she yelled.

"That's not true. I know, there have been huge problems between your mom and dad, and I also know that it was hard for you and Frances. But it was hard for your dad, too. He wanted to be with you, and he was not allowed to. It broke his heart. He cried many tears because he missed you so much, and he really tried to be part of your life. It was just the circumstances, it wasn't his fault. He and your mom had worked out their problems, so it's never too late, right?"

"I don't even know him." Ariana couldn't hold back the tears any longer.

"I know it's gonna be difficult for both of you, but when he wakes up he needs you. Besides, he needs you right now. I'm sure he can feel you around. Please don't be angry. When he's healthy you can argue with him, and you're gonna work things out, okay? Then you'll have time to find out what a wonderful father he is. Can you do that?"

"Okay," she answered subdued.

"You are a very brave girl," Sam said and stroked her long blond hair.

As Samantha and Chloe entered the trauma unit, a nurse stopped them, telling them that Mr. Malone had been moved to the Neurological Unit, since he was no longer in critical condition. Sam, eager to take anything as a sign for his improvement, couldn't hide a smile, and they made their way through the corridors, following the signs.

They had moved him to a single room. Sam felt less claustrophobic here than in the illuminated trauma suite he had been in before. Here at least was a window, and the natural light made the room friendlier and more inviting. Hesitantly Chloe stood beside the bed, anxiously watching Bailey.

"Do you want to sit on the bed?" Sam asked.

"Can I?"

Sam assured her daughter that it was okay if she sat on the bed. Sitting next to Bailey, Chloe studied him with great attention.

"What's that?" she asked and pointed to the naso-gastric tube.

"Well, he can't eat now, so that's how he gets his food. It's similar to what the astronauts have."

"Wow, that's cool. Does it have any taste?"

Sam laughed at her carefreeness. "I don't know sweetie."

Chloe asked about any equipment around in the room, and when her curiosity finally was satisfied, she fumbled a piece of paper out of the jacket and unfolded it cautiously.

"Look, Uncle Bailey, I've drawn this picture for you," she said, waiving it around in front of his face.

Frances, who had visited her father in the afternoon, offered to take Chloe home with her. Alone again, Sam took Chloe's place on the bed. She told him about his daughters, talking in a relaxed voice, when she suddenly jumped with surprise.

His eyes were open!

"Bailey?" she addressed him.

She looked right into his eyes but his glance was unfocused, empty. He looked right through her, obviously not perceiving anything. If only she could bring him back. This was more that she could bear. She collapsed, her head resting against his shoulder, pulling herself as close to him as possible, her sobs muted by his green hospital gown. When she had calm down a bit, she slipped down from the bed, and sat on the chair, burying her face in her hands.

When the nurse entered the room to check her patient's vital signs, she discovered Sam soundly asleep in the chair. She didn't want to wake her up, she looked so peaceful, and therefore the nurse just closed the blinds before she left again.

* * *

The next morning, the nurse wanted to look after Sam, asking her to go home and get some rest. She was checking the tubes, but when she was interrupted by an emergency call, she rushed outside. Sam woke up from the noise. Her neck felt stiff, and she stretched her legs.

"Morning, darling! How are you? You're looking great today." She yawned. Gosh, she desperately needed some coffee and a shower.

Who is that woman? Her voice sounds as sweet as honey, but I can hear a certain sadness. What is she talking about? Rise your hand, touch her. Eyes, open! Damn. Feet, come on, do your stuff. Move something, shift. Wish I could see the voice. How might she look? Tired, tired. Is there still a body? I can't feel it. I can smell a strange scent: decent, airy, fresh. Getting weaker. NO, no, don't go away. Stay. I don't know you, like your scent though. Don't go. Grab her, arm. Hold her back. Eyes, arms, feet, do SOMETHING. Sound. I can hear something. It's like having dived into a pool, then floating back up towards the surface. Can't hear anybody talking near. Distant voices, close sounds. Beep, beep. That's not her I bet. Take it easy. Fine. One step after the other. Just calm down. I sigh.

I really do sigh, I can feel the pillow tucked under my head, the tube which enters my neck slides across the fabric over my shoulder, then slips back as I relax and breath out. I am so surprised, I open my eyes.

When the nurse returned, she wanted to continue with checking the IV. Suddenly she felt his gaze on her.

"Hi, Mister Malone, welcome back." She smiled. "Do you understand me? Blink if you do, okay?"

And he did blink, thinking who the hell is Mister Malone. His eyes were looking for the unknown voice though. When his consciousness returned, he felt the small feeding tube in his throat. It made him retch.

Within minutes, the room was crowded with professionals. Someone removed the fixation from his wrists. They told him not to speak, but he felt so weak anyway, his muscles unable to move an inch. He just wanted to sleep. He closed his eyes, but the sounds didn't disappear. They told him that he just woke up from a coma. He was wondering what had happened.

Sam, coming from the lady's room, was in panic when she saw all the staff inside Bailey's room.

"What's going on here," she asked anxiously.

"Oh, it's good that you're here, Doctor Waters. He just woke up."

She closed her eyes, laying back her head with relief.

"His body had been through a severe stress during these six days. He's very weak, but we will give you some time. When he's fully awake, we will perform some tests."

She sat down on the bed, taking his hand in hers. At her touch he slowly opened his eyes, blinded by the lights. He was trying to focus on the face above him. What a sight. A beautiful blond woman, she appeared to him like a fairy. Her eyes pulled him out of his numbness.

"Hey," she said.

"Hi," he tried to say, but it sounded more like a hoarse croak. His throat felt sore, and it made him cough.

"You're voice hadn't been used for a few days, so take it slowly, okay," the voice said, putting a cool hand on his forehead.

It was a female voice, the wonderful one he had heard before. A few days, she had said.

"What's the day?" he whispered.

"You can't remember, huh? It's Monday, March twenty-seventh."

He obviously could not make much of what she had said.

"Where," he murmured.

"Bailey, you're at the hospital." She saw the question in his eyes. "You had an accident, do you remember?"

He tried to find something under the haze in his mind. He couldn't shake of the numbness. He shook his head. Bailey? But the other people called him Mister Malone, didn't they. He tried to concentrate, but his head ached badly. What accident? He moaned.

Sam, concerned that he might be in pain, went outside to get a nurse. She bumped into Dr Goldman, who was talking to some nurses in the hallway.

"Oh, Doctor Waters!"

"Doctor, I think Bailey, ehm, Mister Malone is in pain. Could you, well, maybe you could take a look," Sam stuttered.

"Sure. I was on my way. I'm gonna perform some neurological tests."

"He sounded confused."

Back in the hospital room, Bailey was lying with his eyes closed. When Dr Goldman addressed him, he opened his eyes.

"Hello, I'm Doctor Goldman. I want to perform some tests, okay? Can you speak?"

Bailey nodded slightly.

Goldman checked his neurological status, and was enthusiastic that his patient didn't show any signs of neurological failures. Bailey let everything simply wash over him.

"Now, that looks pretty good. Can you tell me what the day is?"

"This lady said it's March twenty-seventh."

Sam was puzzled. This lady? Goldman turned to her, shaking his head inconspicuously. "You don't know the lady?" the doctor asked, already foreseeing his answer.

"No, I'm afraid. Should I?"

Goldman ignored Bailey's question. "Can you tell me your date of birth?"

Bailey concentrated hard, Sam could almost feel his will to dig out the memory, but aghast he shook his head once again.

"Sir, you had an accident. Can you tell us anything about it?"

"No."

"Just a moment, Mister Malone," Goldman smiled at him, indicating Sam to follow him.

"What's wrong with him?" Sam asked with concern.

"Well, it looks like he issuffering from retrograde amnesia. This is quite common after a head injury of this degree. The amnesia affects his recollection of the accident and the time before. He seems to have lost every single information about his personal life."

"That means?"

"He will be able, for example, to drive a car or play tennis, ife he has done that before, but he won't remember his family. And he won't remember himself. The memory is most likely to come back, fully or fragmentary, but I can't tell you how long it will take."

Sam nodded dizzily, trying to take in what she had heard. He doesn't remember! He doesn't remember her at all. Bailey doesn't remember that he loves her. My god, right now, when she had discovered her feelings for him, he was drowning in this sea of oblivion. Sam cried for them.

The physician did not understand why she cried, at least her friend was alive, and physically he was all right.

"What can I do?" Sam whispered.

"Well, try to help him. The most important thing is, not to put any kind of pressure on him. It will be hard enough for him when he realizes what he has lost. It will help him when he is back in his usual environment, going to familiar places, and so on. I better inform his family."

"Mhh. Oh, Doctor Goldman, would you mind if I'll be there too?"

Sam had called Janet and the VCTF, telling them that Bailey was awake, and asking them to come in the afternoon. In the meantime, Goldman had already told Bailey what was going on. When Sam returned to his room, he was staring at the ceiling with dark eyes. They had put him in a sitting position, but he still looked pale and feeble.

"Hey!"

"Hey!" he answered, closing his eyes, tormenting himself because he was unable to remember that wonderful unfamiliar woman. He coughed.

"You thirsty?" she asked, just to say anything, but he nodded thankfully.

Sam excused herself, asking a nurse for a something to drink for him. She knew he was too weak to hold the plastic mug by himself, therefore she put the straw to his lips. His mouth was dry and he had a bad taste, but when he took a deep gulp, it made him almost choke.

"Slowly, slowly," Sam calmed him down, when he spat out the warm tea.

He leaned back his head, trying to catch his breath. He was embarrassed that he just spit tea in the face of that woman. Doctor Waters. Was she his physician? She smelled so good. When he was breathing easier again, he felt her hand rest on his chest, and he felt her warmth flowing through his body. He smiled gently, looking down on her hand. He felt safe.

When Bailey woke up again the woman was gone. The room was still and empty and the lights were down. He body ached and he felt dazed. He wanted her to come back, ask her who she is and who he is. He closed his eyes, searching his soul for any memory. He was shocked by the nothingness he was staring into.

* * *

They had all gathered in the small family room. When Sam entered, they were all talking nervously, unsure what to expect. Dr Goldman briefed them about Bailey's condition before Sam took over.

"Okay guys. So far, so good. Unfortunately, there is some less positive news. It looks like Bailey has lost his memory, he has amnesia. At the moment he doesn't remember anything about himself, his family and friends. This is a very stressful experience for him. We thought," and she pointed towards the neurologist, "it would be better for him, if he doesn't see too many different people at the moment."

When the information had set in, the people in the room sat flabbergasted, then they bombarded Sam and Dr Goldman with questions. Bailey's VCTF colleagues agreed not to see him at the moment, although it was hard for them. They deeply cared about him, and now they felt excluded, but they swallowed their emotions. If that was the best for Bailey, they were going to do it.

Janet felt quite uncomfortable. She hadn't told their daughters yet that her boss had ordered her back to work on Wednesday. Besides, being an ex-wife and the mother of his daughters might confuse things. It was decided that Ariana and Frances should visit him later, after Sam had prepared Bailey about what to expect.

When she entered his room, he looked asleep. She thought a second about leaving again, but as she observed him, he opened his eyes, just to look away with grief evident in his glance.

"How're you?" she asked.

He gave her a short look that told her enough. He was beginning to understand what had happened to him. A life extinguished. He has to make a new start out of nothing until he would be able to remember again.

"There are some people outside. They... would like to see you."

"Who is it?"

"Your daughters."

He closed his eyes, and a single tear trickled down his cheek.

"I have children?" he asked hoarsely, brusquely wiping off the tears with his hand.

"Yes. Two girls, Frances and Ariana."

"My god," he whispered.

"Do you wanna see them?"

"Uhm," he uttered in a choked voice.

When Sam returned with the two girls, she realized how much Bailey was trying to maintain his composure. He smiled at them, but his smile looked forced.

"Hello!" he welcomed them.

Frances ran towards him, hugging him tightly, burying her head on his shoulder. He felt uncomfortable, this unknown girl hugging him. A bit clueless he searched Sam's eyes, and when she gave him an encouraging look, he stroked her hair softly.

"Hey daddy."

"Hey..." He hesitated. Sam had told him the name of his daughters were Frances and Ariana. Well, which one was her? Frances felt the pause.

"It's me, Frances." And she waved her sister over. "And that's Ariana."

Bailey put his hand on Ariana's head, looking deep into her eyes, his eyes filled with tears but also full of love.

"Oh daddy, I'm so happy to have you back," Ariana said.

"I'm sorry," he said in a flat voice.

Sam stood back, watching the scene. She had to cover her mouth with her hand, not to let out the scream that wanted to break out of her deepest inside. When the girls had left again, Bailey covered his eyes with his hand not to let Sam see him cry. She took his other hand in hers, trying to comfort him.

"What a mess," he said with a sarcastic laugh.

Sam put her arm around his shoulders and pulled him to her. She just wanted to hold him, feel him. She felt him lean against her side, exhausted and discouraged. When he got on an even keel again, he backed off.

"Tell me about myself."

"What do you want to know?"

"Everything."

And Sam sat down, laying his whole life before him. From time to time he asked curiously, and it felt as if they were talking about a third person.

"So that's my life, huh?"

"More or less."

"Forty-something years in twenty minutes." He sighed.

"Come on, Bailey. I know you want your memories back. Just don't push, okay."

"Good idea, pretty hard to do though."

* * *

The second day awake, a nurse walked him around in the hospital garden. He was still tired, and after about twenty minutes he sat down on the cafeteria terrace.

"Mister Malone?"

He turned around. A woman and a little boy stood beside him.

"Yes?"

"I'm Carol McGrady, and that's my son Michael. We just want to thank you," she continued.

"Thank me? What for?"

"Well, the doctor told me about your amnesia but I had to talk to you." She looked at him sympathetically. "You saved our lives. You've been hurt because of us."

He stood up, gently touching the boy's cheek.

"Oh, that's... that goes without saying," he stuttered.

"Oh no. You risked your life. Without you we would be dead. I don't know how on earth I can ever repay you."

"You don't have to. I'm glad that you and... Michael are okay." He really meant it.

* * *

On Thursday, Bailey had been discharged from the hospital. Janet and Ariana had gone back to Baltimore two days ago, but Frances decided to stay over the weekend.

Since waking up from coma, he had become more and more depressed. At first he was only puzzled, but still positive that it would not take long to get his memories back. But with every day without improvement, he withdrew a step further from the people around him. Sam called the VCTF every day, and the team could hear that she was losing her hope. They were unable to help much, at least they tried to support Sam as much as they could. They all expected him to feel better at home.

Bailey had scouted every corner of his house as if he could find a trace there that led him to his past. He didn't talk much, and Sam left him on his own. She didn't want him to feel under surveillance. While he was staring outside the window, a small hand suddenly touched his arm.

"Uncle Bailey?"

"Yeah, Chloe?"

Chloe was the only person, in whose company he relaxed. When Sam had brought her to the hospital, she had behaved so uninhibited. He didn't feel any compassion in her eyes like in those of all the others. Maybe it was because she was still a little girl.

"Can you help me?"

"Sure, sweetie. What do you want me to do?"

"Well, you know, mom is buying some groceries, and so Frances an I tried to make dinner. Well, we... burnt it."

"Oh no."

Downstairs in the kitchen smell of burning met him, and the mess inside made him laugh.

"Okay girls, we better clean that up before Sam gets back."

He helped them to clean up the kitchen. Then he rummaged through the cupboards, where he found the ingredients for some plain pasta. He instructed the girls what they should do, and with a lot of joking, they were almost finished when Sam came back.

Later that evening, Bailey was sitting in the living room, smoking a cigar. He had discovered the humidor and felt like trying one of the cigars. The smooth taste of cigar smoke on his tongue felt good, almost familiar.

"Hi daddy. I always liked the smell of your cigars."

He smiled at his daughter, taking her hand.

"Come on, Frannie, sit down with your old dad." And he pulled her down on the sofa.

"I like it when you call me Frannie. Whenever you called me Frances, I knew that it was getting serious."

"Oh, my girl. I wish I would remember;" he sadly said, affectionately putting his hand on her cheek..

"I love you, daddy."

He pulled her in his arms, his cheeks against her head. She couldn't see his tears.

It was way past ten when there was a knock at the door. Sam was surprised to see Angel standing in front of her. Sam was so glad to see her and she flung her arms around her friends neck.

"Come in! Shh, Bailey's asleep."

"He's sleeping in the living-room?"

Sam told him how sweet it was, when Bailey had insisted that she and Chloe stayed in his bedroom.

"My god, Sam. You look like a mess."

"Thanks, Angel. You're a true friend. What are you doing in Atlanta?"

"Well, I just returned from Chicago, and I'm way too tired to drive up to the farm tonight. So, here I am."

"Good to see you."

They sat down at the kitchen table, facing each other.

"How's Bailey?"

"He torments himself, and I have no idea how to help him."

Sam had called Angel every day, telling her about Bailey, but over the phone she had kept quite matter-of-fact.

"It's hard to imagine. You know, when something has gone the wrong way, you wish you could forget it, simply erase it. But to imagine that everything is just gone like that... scary, isn't it."

"He has to learn to cope with the situation, Angel. He has to look ahead, move on with his life."

* * *

At breakfast, Bailey asked Sam if she would accompany him to the VCTF. Sam had told him so much about his job that he now felt he had to go there. Sam didn't like the idea too much, but she agreed when she realized how much it meant to him.

When they entered the Command Center, Grace, George, John, and Rachel had assembled around the large table in front of the video screen. Bailey's chair was deserted. John, the first to see them walk in, jumped to his feet. They all welcomed their boss warmly. Bailey shook hands with them, calling every one by his first name. He felt a bit uncomfortable, being that intimate with people who were strangers to him. After some small talk, Sam and Bailey walked to his office.

Sam had left him to join the others at the Command Center. She hadn't been here for over six month now, but it looked like not much had changed.

Alone in his office, Bailey sat down in his chair behind the desk. He opened every drawer, searching for some familiar objects. He was amazed to find a photograph in a small silver frame. It was a picture of Sam. He had learned that they used to work together. And since the very moment he woke up, he felt attracted to her. Could it be that he loved her before? But why did she left him? She did not love him. That's it. On the other hand, why had she left her home and her life? She came here just because of him. Do friends do that? He put the photograph back into the drawer.

On his desk, there was a pile of files. He picked up the uppermost, curious about the cases with which he had been dealing in his earlier life. It was an interesting reading matter. Sam found him pondering over the file.

"Hey, you're still on leave, did you forget?" Sam was amazed. He looked as if he had never been away.

"Yeah, you're right. I better leave the job to them." He pointed out of the window "They know what they're doing." He added sarcastically.

* * *

"Where's Bailey?"

"Don't know? Chlo? Have you seen Uncle Bailey?"

"I don't know. About half an hour ago I've heard him in the shower. I've heard the water running."

"Okay, I'll go upstairs an tell him that we're ready."

Sam got up from the dinner table to look for Bailey. Upstairs, she noticed the door to his bedroom was open. In front of the bathroom door, she stopped and listened. No sound. Strange.

"Bailey? I just wanted to tell you that dinner's ready. How long will you need?"

As he did not answer, Sam was raising her hand to knock. Suddenly, a muffled tinkle came through the door. The sound made her jump. Without thinking twice, she flung open the door, but when she was about to set her foot in the room the scene inside paralyzed her.

Bailey was standing there, only a towel wrapped around his waist, supporting himself heavily with his hands on the washbasin, almost incapable to carry his weight. With an empty look he was staring in the mirror that was shattered in innumerable pieces. When she addressed him, he did not show any reaction.

She shook off her panic and approached him hurriedly and confused. As she patted his shoulder, she noticed blood on his right hand. Without turning, his eyes met hers in the broken glass, and when he realized she was standing beside him, he suddenly let his head drop onto his chest. He was breathing heavily. The seconds felt like hours for Sam as they stayed that way. And then he broke down. Like in slow motion, he slid down on his knees, tilting his head against the wall. Mute sobs shook his body.

Sam crouched down at his side, putting her arms around him. She wanted to ease his pain. It took a long time until he calmed down a bit, gloominess and shame overwhelmed him. She thought how hard he always had struggled to control his temper and to overcome his violent outbursts, but this time it was stronger, he just lost control.

"I'm sorry," he whispered.

Not daring to look into her eyes, he got up, embarrassed that she had seen him that way. He acted like a madman. With his hand he wiped his face dry. Sam smiled at him tenderly, wanting him to see that she understood what was going on in his head. She took him by the wrist and led him to his bedroom. He followed her without reluctance.

With soft force she pushed him down on the bed. Then she returned to the bathroom, rummaging through the medicine cupboard for a bandage and some adhesive tape. Back at the bedroom, Bailey sat exactly in the pose in which she had left him behind. With sober professionalism she patched up the cuts on his knuckles, still wondering how angry he must have been to punch the mirror with such a right jab that it broke.

"Thank you," he said.

She looked deep into his eye. First his look was avoiding hers, afraid to meet her intense gaze, but when he finally gave in, he was lost in her large radiant blue eyes.

"Why are you doing this for me?" He shook his head.

Because I love you, she didn't dare to say. "We're friends," she said as if that would explain anything.

After they sat side by side on the bed for a moment, not touching each other, Sam said: "Bailey, I want to show you something, okay. Just trust me, I don't wanna push you, I just want you to go to a place where you can find a little peace. Will you come with me?" She was talking calmly and never moved her eyes from his.

Bailey nodded almost imperceptibly, before he dropped his head and just sighed. He was so tired of his condition. Sam could not help, she put her hand on his cheek, as he had done to her so many times before. Suddenly, she felt him lean in his head. It was as if a wall had just broken down. She smiled.

* * *

The next morning, Sam got up early. She had bought some groceries and packed her travel bag the day before, although she had not been sure if Bailey would agree to come with her. She went upstairs to look after Bailey. When she tapped at the door of his bedroom, he did not answer. So she carefully opened the door, but hesitated to go inside. He was lying on his stomach crosswise over the large bed, hardly covered by the sheet.

The sunlight got caught in the fine hair on his wide spread arms, and she could hear his deep regular breath. She sat down on the bed but when she put her hand between his shoulder blades, she felt a tension that worried her. Since the day he had become aware of what he had lost, he had never been able to relax, and even sleep did not refresh him. Sam was not aware that she had started to massage his back with his thumb moving in light small circles. She startled when he turned around.

"Morning!" she said.

"Morning," he answered.

"You have to pack your bags. I'll give you one hour."

"Yes sir, drill sergeant," he teasingly said. "What about Chloe? Will she come with us?"

"Not this time. Angel will take care of her. I hope it's okay for you if they stay at your house while we're away."

"It's okay."

An hour later he was ready. Angel was already there, and Sam was packing their luggage into Bailey's white GMC. When Bailey stepped downstairs, Denzel, Angel's dog, run towards him, jumping up at him enthusiastically. Angel looked puzzled. The relationship between Bailey and her dog was not quite true love. But now Denzel was licking his hand obsequiously, and Bailey let it happen.

"Hey, Bail, looks like you made a new friend." Sam said amazed when she appeared in the doorframe. She exchanged glances with Angel.

"Oh, Sam, what if you take Denzel with you? He'd be happy to be on the farm again."

Sam and Bailey said goodbye to Angel, Frances, and Chloe. Before Bailey left the house, he got on his knees and gave Chloe a long hug. She was still the one person who felt least alien to him. He had become used to her presence, it made him feel safe. He was a bit afraid to leave her behind.

After an hour's drive, they arrived at Angel's farm. They carried their bags and the groceries into the house, and decided to go out for a walk down to the lake before lunch. Silently they walked over the yard, side by side, when Bailey suddenly stopped. Sam turned around, and watched in amazement the scene in front of her eyes. Bailey had bent down on his knee, in his hands a fistful of loose soil and decayed autumn leaves, remains of the departing winter. He raised it in front of his face, inhaling the scent of the warm earth and the spice of the dried leaves. After a few deep breaths, he threw it back on the ground and stood up again. When he noticed Sam's questioning look, he gave her a smile.

"Well, I had this idea how the soil might smell. I had to make sure if I was right," he said apologetic.

"And?"

"Pretty close, I'd say."

Sam was happy. Out here he looked less stressful, less depressed, less frustrated. It appeared to her as if with every mile further away from Atlanta, he looked more relaxed. Since being out of hospital, he had put an enormous pressure on himself. He wanted to remember so intensely, and being incapable to do so broke his heart. He felt as if the harder he had tried, the more distant his past was becoming.

They walked towards the small boat landing at the lake. At the end, they sat down, their feet swinging only a few inches on top of the surface.

"About yesterday," Bailey started to talk.

"No, no, it's okay," Sam interrupted.

"No, listen. I want to explain it to you, okay. I couldn't see clearly any longer. During the last week I felt like walking on the edge of a black hole, and it's dragging me in deeper and deeper. I'm afraid that I can't get out again. I feel like a stranger to myself. Everyone keeps telling me what I did, and what I said, and so on. And I can't remember a single thing! How can you live like that? I mean, what am I? Who am I? I don't know myself. Yesterday, I didn't know what I was doing. I lost control. I felt guilty, and then I was angry for feeling guilty, and I was embarrassed. I'm sorry. It won't happen again."

When he had finished, Sam did not answer right away. After a minute, she took his hand and squeezed it softly.

"Bailey, you shouldn't feel guilty about yesterday."

"Damn, Sam. I want my life back. I have these two wonderful daughters, and I don't remember them. I have these great friends and colleagues, who all care for me. And you...." he paused.

"You're just a human being. You don't have to go through this alone. I want you to let me help you. I just want you to know that I'm there for you, come what may."

"I know I've been pushing you away. Forgive me," he said with an edgy voice. "I was just afraid that you might find out I'm no longer the person you used to know."

"Oh, Bailey." She put an arm around him, softly pulling his head down to her shoulder. "It's nice to share old memories, and I'm sure some day yours will return. Just don't push it. But as long as they won't come back I still love you, not for what we've shared, but for the person you still are. Here deep inside," she said and poked his chest gently.

"Thank you," he whispered, then he looked into her eyes, and the sadness had disappeared.

"And now let's get some lunch, okay?"

Bailey insisted on making lunch, so Sam sat down at the kitchen table, watching with amusement how naturally he handled everything. Even doing such a simple thing like cooking he looked somehow elegant.

After having some wonderful fresh salmon pasta for lunch, they sat for a long time. Sam was telling stories about Chloe, and Bailey enjoyed his part in listening. Suddenly she realized his face becoming stressed.

"What's up?"

"It's that headache. I really thought it's gone." He put his head in his hands and moaned.

"You know, Goldman told you that can happen."

"I know. I'd love to prove him wrong."

"Okay, you better get your medication."

He searched his bag for some painkillers his doctor had prescribed. Sam handed him a glass of water and he swallowed two of the pills.

After Bailey had left with a headache, Sam started reading a book. She was turning the pages, but she didn't take in any of the content. Her thoughts were revolving around Bailey.

She went upstairs and entered his bedroom, anxious not to make noise. He was soundly asleep, the pain gone. He was lying on his side, his head resting on his hand. He was still fully dressed, nevertheless Sam covered him with a blanket. Sam could not turn away from him. She sat down in a wicker chair beside his bed.

* * *

"Sam?"

She woke up with a start.

"What are you doing here?"

"Uhmm, must have fallen asleep," she yawned.

"Here?" He laughed, sitting up opposite to her.

For a minute, there was an awkward silence, before Sam got up.

"Okay, I better leave you alone now. Good night," she said.

"Night Sam."

* * *

Sam woke up early. She crawled out of the bed yawning. After having taken a shower she noticed the door of Bailey's room wide open. She peeped inside, but he wasn't there. She went through the small farmhouse, calling out his name. She stepped outside the front door.

A fine damp mist was lying over the small lake like a veil. The soft spring sun was fighting its way through the haze, gaining more intensity with every degree it was arising higher into the sky. On the opposite shore of the lake, a small dark figure was moving quickly along the horizon. Sam sat down on the veranda stairs watching.

When Bailey saw her sitting there, he quickened his steps, making a final spurt toward the house. He was wearing gray sweat pants and a black windbreaker. Under its hood, the peak of a VCTF cap showed. On his heels Denzel was panting.

"Morning Sam!" he uttered breathless, leaning against a pillar that carried the canopy.

"Morning," she said still sleepily. "What are you doing?"

"Don't know. What does it look like?" he grinned amused. "Well, yesterday found the sneakers in my closet. So I said to myself I was supposed to jog, why not trying it."

"And?"

"Felt good. No, it felt right," he said, still smiling.

Sam suggested to go for a hoarse-back ride after breakfast.

"So I'm supposed to ride as well. Can I ride?"

"Nope," she replied with a mischievous grin. "No, just kidding, you're a real horseman."

"Well, I trust you, this time. What about taking a picnic with us?"

When they had everything prepared for their little hike, the haze had dispersed. They walked towards the pasture where two horses were grazing peacefully. When the horse were getting wind of the two people approaching, they trotted nosily to the fence. When Sam returned from the barn where she had fetched two halters, she saw Bailey fondling the tall sorrel who had laid his head trustingly on his shoulder. They led the two horses to the barn, Sam taking Belle, the black mare, and Bailey taking Goldfever. When Sam heard Bailey stop behind him, she turned around.

"What's up?" she asked.

"Well, I was thinking, I better not go any further, otherwise you're gonna throw hay at me again," he laughed.

Sam, who was just to starting to fix her horse, suddenly stopped.

"What did you say?" she asked almost hysterically.

"What?"

"Can you say it again, what you just said?"

"I don't know what that means, but I said I shouldn't go any...."

"Do you know what that means?" she interrupted him. When she recognized his still puzzled look, she continued: "What you just said, I'm gonna throw hay on you AGAIN! You remember, see!"

He was shaking his head in amazement, waiting for this new insight to sink in. Still shaking his head, his face gradually became a huge smile. "Oh my... you're right," he yelled.

"Bailey, that's wonderful!" Sam couldn't stop laughing.

They saddled the horses in a lively mood. Bailey almost jumped on his gelding, finally seeing a light at the end of the tunnel. Sam watched him admiring. He looked gorgeous in his blue jeans and the light-colored leather jacket, but the happiness in his eyes made him simply irresistible. He turned around in the saddle and said: "Boy, this feels good," before he galloped away. Sam, taken by surprise, chased after him high-spirited. Bailey slowed down, so that she was able to catch up with him.

They had found a calm spot for their picnic. After eating, they lay down in the warm sunlight, head beside head, silently enjoying each others presence.

"Bailey?"

Lost in thought, he didn't hear her. He had close his eyes, visualizing the woman who was only an arm length away, her figure who sometimes appeared as if she were unaware of her beauty; her voice that could break down concrete; her eyes he could drown in.

Sam listened to his calm breath. She turned on her elbows, looking at his face. He looked as if he were asleep.

"I love you," she whispered.

He opened his eyes.

"You're cheating," she said with pretended anger.

"Why did you leave me?" he suddenly said.

"What?"

"And why did you come back now? Because out of compassion? If that's the case...."

Furiously Sam jumped to her feet, interrupting him.

"What are you talking about?" she yelled.

"I don't wanna offend you, Sam. I just have to know."

"What you don't wanna offend me? I just told you that I love you. Janet said you'd love me too. I guess she's wrong," she uttered with clenched teeth.

"Janet? Is this about Janet? What're you talking about?" he yelled, getting up facing her.

"Oh come on, this is about us. You're reproaching me with having left? I tried to explain to you I had to do it for Chloe."

"That's what you've told me," he replied dryly.

"What the hell are you talking about?" Sam was stunned.

"Well I may not remember it, but I have a certain feeling that you left because you wanted to get away from me. I read the file, part of it. Jack. I assigned you to the case. Then he formed what he called a relationship with you in his twisted mind. That's where you're ordeal began. And then I made you come out of hiding, an so did...he. For me it looks like every time you were with me in a way, your life became a mess. That's what you were trying to get away from, wasn't it?"

"That's rubbish Malone. Are you such an egotist to think everything has to do with you? This was only about Chloe, about getting her a normal life." Tears ran down her cheeks.

"A life I wasn't part of."

"Why can't we leave all that behind? Can't you just take what is right here, right now?"

"I wish I could, I wish I could," he hissed.

Bailey had no idea why he had said what he had said. He felt he ruined everything, but the urge inside of him to know about the depth of her love for him was stronger. He didn't want her to stay out of pity or guilt.

They returned to the farm, an awkward silence between them like an invisible wall.

Maybe he was right. Sam had kept telling herself she left because of Chloe. But maybe she did it for herself as much as for her daughter. Bailey was such a big part of her past that she thought a new start with him might be impossible. It was not.

They spent the rest of the day avoiding each other. Both of them stayed at their rooms, only sneaking around if necessary, not trying to make any noise.

Sam woke up from a sound. The alarm clock showed 2:43 a.m. She listened into the darkness. Must have been the wind. She dropped back on her pillow when she heard a muffled cry. She stood up slowly. Now she could hear it clearly. Someone was calling her name. Bailey.

Carefully she entered his room. His sleep was troubled.

"Sam. No," he mumbled.

She decided to choke back her anger for now. Sitting down on his bed, she softly shook him. He didn't wake up first.

"Bailey! Bailey!"

He woke up with a groan, disoriented. His T-shirt was soaked with sweat.

"What's wrong?" she asked worried.

The images of the nightmare still present he shook his head, pretending everything was just fine.

"Nightmare?"

He nodded.

"Wanna talk about it?"

"Don't think so."

"Okay," Sam said with disappointment, but she respected his wish. She was about to leave, when Bailey called her back.

"Actually I'd like to talk about it."

Sam sat down again, listening.

"It doesn't make any sense at all, maybe you can.... Well, maybe it doesn't mean anything at all."

He looked at her. Sam didn't answer but encouraged him with her eyes.

"It's so weird. Actually, there were two different dreams. First one, it was me and Frances. We were yelling at each other. And then she just turned around and.... shot me. Doesn't make sense, see. She's my daughter, how could she possibly shoot me, I mean."

Sam knew she had to come out with the truth, although it could made things harder then they already were.

"It's more than a dream."

"What?"

"Actually this happened. In reality."

"You don't wanna tell me Frances shot me? My daughter trying to kill me?" He covered his face with his hands.

"No Bailey, she didn't want to kill you. I think she didn't even want to shoot. It was an accident. What you've seen in your dream must have been images buried deep in your subconscious. Memories."

He could hardly believe what Sam was telling him, but suddenly a cover was raised from his memories. He shivered.

"I pushed her. She was so afraid, confused."

"You remember?"

"I don't feel like I remember. It's just there. The feeling, the images. It just resurfaced. Fragments, more of them. I can't link them, most of it doesn't make sense yet."

"Amnesia won't go away at one point. But it's a start."

"The images are so dark, scary. I'm not sure if I want to have them back again."

"What about the other dream?"

"Another shot, I don't know, looks like I have a target painted on my back. I'm unpacking the trunk of a car. Then someone calls out my name. Before I'm able to turn around, the bullet hits me. Over and over again. The only thing I can see is a light shape, almost like a ghost, walking away from me."

"Well, obviously you haven't read the file completely. Jack."

"Jack shot me? Why?"

"Isn't it obvious? Because he knew what everyone else had known, except us. He shot you because he wanted to make it clear that no matter how hard you tried, you wouldn't be able to protect me. He knew you well."

"And he was right," Bailey whispered.

"What do you mean?"

"I was unable to protect you. I owe you an apology."

"No you don't," Sam said.

"No no, let me. I'm sorry about this morning. I understand now why you left. You had to." He looked at her questioningly.

"I'm not sure about that any longer."

Bailey softly cupped her cheek in his hand, their eyes met. Bailey wanted to beg her not to leave him ever again but he felt he had no right to do so. Sam was nothing that he could have until she let him have her.

The images overwhelmed him. There were too many. Something had kept the floodgates of his memories closed but now he was engulfed. Too many images, unconnected, lost in time. He pressed his palms on his temples, his head seemed to explode.

"What is it?"

"I gotta talk to Frances. Please, it's important. She shouldn't feel guilty."

"Bailey, she already knows that. You've work this out long time ago. You don't have to feel guilty either."

"Goes for both of us, right? I don't want things corrupted by feelings of guilt." He groaned.

"Oh Bail," she sighed, falling in his tight embrace.

He softly kissed her head. "We've shed enough tears."

"Everything okay?"

"Yep," he nodded satisfied. "Yesterday I only had a few parts of the thousand pieces of the puzzle of my life. Now this night had two handfuls thrown on me.. The picture is getting clearer. I'm starting to feel whole."

Sam gave him a wonderful smile before she hugged him tightly. She felt so good in his arms.

His lips close to her ear, he whispered: "This afternoon you asked why we can't leave the past behind and make a clear start. I'd love to try."

Sam backed off a bit, looking into his eyes intensely. She felt his hand on the nape of her neck pulling her closer towards him. She didn't struggle, longing for his lips to meet hers. She shivered from the softness and heat of his lips. First their kiss was hesitant, their bodies only connected by their lips. She didn't feel his hand on her neck. An invisible force seem to draw her towards him for an endless kiss.

"Love you," he mumbled, hardly breaking the kiss.

Sam was electrified by the sensation of that kiss. She had been sure about her love for Bailey before, but now she wanted him. Slowly she slid a hand under his T-shirt, her fingertips following the line of his spine.

* * *

Sam woke up late the next morning. She smiled satisfied when she felt his body still tightly behind hers, one hand loosely resting on her side. Last night hadn't been a dream. She closed her eyes trying to get the sensations back that Bailey had given her. They had made love, indeed. Nobody had spoken a word, they were both lost in each other, their body and souls mating in a pure ritual. He stirred.

"You awake?"

"No," he said.

Sam turned around to face him. He never let his hand go. Instead he bent over and kissed her.

"Morning my love."

"Morning."

"Then it is true."

"What?"

"Last night was no dream. It had been a dream too often, so I wasn't quite sure."

"Well, need some more evidence?"

"Won't do any harm," he said with a mischievous grin.

"Okay," she said, pinning him down on the bed.

* * *

They decided to go back to Atlanta before noon. Bailey was driving quietly smiling to himself.

"You happy?" he asked her.

"No."

"What?" He looked at her frowning.

"Not happy, Bail. I'm overjoyed. I feel weightless, hardly feel my body."

"So you don't feel your body, huh? After last night? You hear that Denz?" he said with a broad grin.

"Oh Bail, you...." Sam said, slapping his arm with the back of her hand.

"Hey! Someone help me! She's beatin' me up!" he yelled teasingly.

They joked around like untamed kids, prankish, tickling and kissing each other.

"Ho, ho careful. We're not alone here on the freeway, kid," he stopped her, jesting.

"What's gonna happen next?" she suddenly asked.

His face was getting serious. When he pulled up in front of his house, he opened his seat belt. He turned around, facing her.

"What do you want to happen?" he asked.

"I wanna be with you," she said.

"Chloe?"

"I'll have to talk to her."

"Will you?"

Feeling the doubt in his voice, she nodded. "Have to. She'll understand it."

Bailey kissed her cheek. When she sensed his quivering lips on he face, she looked deep into his eyes. Sam put her arms around his neck, feeling his strength. They both startled when they heard the front door being opened.

"Hey, mom! Hey, Uncle Bailey!"

Chloe was running towards the car and when she flung open the door Denzel jumped up at her, licking her face. As Bailey passed over the car key to Sam, their fingers touched for a moment, just a second longer than friends would have touched, before they let each other go. Just long enough for Chloe to take notice.

Inside, Bailey was looking for his daughter. Although Sam had told him that everything between them was cleared up, he wanted to talk to her before she left for college.

"Frannie? Already packed your bags, huh?"

"Yeah, flight is at four p.m."

Bailey put his hands on her shoulders. "I, just, well, I wanna thank you for coming here. It means a lot to me."

Frances thought about the moment when she had got the call. George had told her that her father was in a coma. She had not believed him at first. I couldn't be true.

"Daddy, there was no question about coming. I couldn't let you...." Die she wanted to say, "let you down," she continued.

They held each other for a long time.

"I'm so happy for you. You'll be fine, right?"

"Yeah, I'll be fine. And now I'll take you to the airport."

* * *

"Okay Chloe, can I talk to you?"

"Sure, mom. What is it?"

Sam took Chloe's hand and led her to the couch.

"How was your weekend?"

"Oh it was wonderful. I called Tina, you know, from school. Angel drove me over to her house yesterday. There were other kids, actually Tina threw some kinda party for me. That was so cool."

"Well, that's really nice of her. I should call her parents and thank them."

"What about your weekend, mom?"

Sam hesitated. How should she tell her daughter, that she wanted them to move back to Atlanta?

"Chloe, do you like living on Martha's Vineyard?" she asked carefully groping her way.

"Mhh, it's okay."

"Well Chlo, what do you think about moving back here?"

"You mean Atlanta?" Chloe's eyes were sparkling.

"Yeah. Would you like that?"

"Oh mom, all my friends are here. I can go to my old school. Wow!"

"So you'd like it, huh."

"Can I ask you something? Why?"

Sam took Chloe's hands in her, looking straight into her eyes.

"Well, Uncle Bailey and I, well... we... you know that we're friends," she stuttered. "Best friends."

"I know. So?"

"Well, we just found out that we want to be together. What do you think?"

Chloe jumped to her feet.

"You mean the three of us together? Yessss!" She said, pumping her fist in the air. "Will we live here? Or will we have a new house? Will you marry him?"

"Ahhh so many questions." Sam was delighted that Chloe took it so positively. "And I have no answers. Actually we haven't talked about it yet."

Bailey had a long discussion with Sam and her daughter. Although Bailey didn't say the words, he let Chloe feel how much he loved her and cared about her. And Chloe understood because she loved Bailey deeply. The three of them decided to move into Bailey's house first before they started looking for a new home for all of them.

When Chloe was in bed, Sam and Bailey sat down on the living room couch, both exhausted from the weekend's events. Sam sat leaning against his shoulder, his arms wrapped around her, softly caressing her arms while she was lying still. She was feeling safe and satisfied.

"Sam," he said, kissing her head gently.

"Mhh?" She turned her head to meet his gaze.

"Well, I have lived alone for some time now. Give me some time to get used to having you and Chloe around. Never forget that I love you both deeply, okay? I'll try my best to make this work."

"Bail, it's new for all of us. I'm a bit afraid, but I'm much more thrilled. Being with you is the only thing I want right now, and I'm sure we can overcome everything as long as we are together." Then she turned around and gave the man she loved a long passionate kiss.   


  


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Copyright © 2000 by isis_whit

   [1]: mailto:isis_whit@yahoo.de



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